Whiskers
by Kagome-Loves-Kouga
Summary: "Mommy...Is Santa real?" Claire/Wesker Christmas ficcy for 2010


**Albert Whisker**

**SUMMARY:** "Mommy… is Santa real?

**RATING:** K+ (For a mild suggestive theme)

**AUTHOURESS'S NOTE:** I know I haven't really written anything—and posted it—since about last school year, but I really, really wanted this to be up for Christmas… plus, I wanted to let you guys know that I'm still amongst the living. With that out of the way… (Smiles) Enjoy!

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own Resident Evil, and I never will…I do own Ellie though. (Hugs the small girl close to her chest) Mine! All mine! No stealing her!

XxXxXxXxX

"Albert!" a woman's voice rang through the hallway.

"Yes, dear heart?" The blonde asked as he stepped out of his study neatly, tugging his blazer back into place, having gotten up fairly quickly to answer to his wife's call.

"Ellie's taking a nap…" Claire grew quiet, even after he drew closer and kissed her on the forehead, almost like he was begging, in his own way, for her to continue with her sentence. "She asked me… if Santa was real."

He immediately froze. Even though he didn't approve of the whole 'childhood wonders' and 'believing in magic', Claire had taught him long ago that that was what made you human. It gave this time of year a warm, fuzzy feeling for the rest of a person's life, even if they only believed in the 'magic' of Christmas for a few years. Having admired her warmth and kindness far before he had even begun to have affection for her, he welcomed this, seeing this as a chance for their child to be just as strong as the former Redfield.

"She…Uh… Heard from a kid at school that they had caught their parents putting presents under the tree." She explained softly. Their little eight-year old daughter was bright-eyed and beautiful—If Wesker hadn't had a soft spot, he did now, and for a good reason. She was kind, generous, and she'd been brought up so far to have a mind of her own, which made it all the easier for him to have her around him for extended periods of time. Eleanor Sherry Wesker was their pride and joy.

However, what really scared Albert was the fact that she was getting to the age when she would know Santa wasn't real. That meant she was growing up, and he didn't like it one bit, as all overprotective fathers are.

"Are…Are you sure?" He asked, his voice light, absent—he was thinking.

"Yes, I'm sure." She nodded. She sighed, her hand raking through her bangs. "…I don't want this Christmas to be ruined. There's already been so much that's happened this year."

His eyes slid shut. Oh, how he knew. She had increasing problems with making friends, keeping them, and socializing in general. Then again, he couldn't blame her much. _'Those bimbo's at her school are certainly not apt to be very good conversationalists.'_

Plus, she had announced that he was going to finally start tutoring her on his own—she was getting bored at school, and it just didn't seem worth it to deal with new people each and every year as teachers.

"What are we going to do…?"

"Let it run its course." He sighed. "I knew this day would come."

"…All right." She stood up on her tip-toes and kissed him on his cheek, her blue eyes piercing into his animalistic, amber-coloured eyes. "Sorry to bother you."

"No, it's quite all right, dear heart… I was about to step out to go to the kitchen anyway."

"All right. I'm going to go wake Ellie—she doesn't need to sleep." She walked off and turned the corner, and that's when Wesker ran his fingers neatly through his hair, trying not to mess it up too badly. "Hmm …" He muttered, and then swept off to a room where he kept some old things to look for something that might help the situation—he had a plan.

"Mommy…?" Ellie rubbed at her eyes as she sat up, her red hair—which, admittedly lay far better than Claire's curly locks—mussed from sleep, the ends to the middle of her back. She'd inherited her mother's love of long hair, but also kept it neat and tidy—that part had been inherited from her father. Her long sleeved lavender shirt was rumpled, as well as her pleated skirt. Her boots were off to the side, and her socks had been pulled off as well, tossed next to her brown boots. Her room was cream-coloured and yellow—rather plain, but classy and elegant.

"Yes dear?" Claire asked, smiling as she sat down on the edge of the bed.

"…Is Santa real? You didn't answer me earlier." She frowned, her icy blue eyes confused.

"Well…Sweetie…" A spark ignited in her brain, giving life to an idea. Wesker had already probably thought about it as well. "Well… Have you ever heard the story of Saint Nicolas?"

The little girl nodded.

"Well, this is the story of why he grew a beard." She smiled. "Now, Mrs. Claus kept having to shoo mice from the kitchen. 'Shoo! Shoo!' She would shout as she swung her broom at the mice. 'Shoo!' She told the two light brown rodents over and over, trying to get them to stop eating the Christmas cookies she would bake for Mister Claus. Eventually, she grew tired of this, so she had an elf bring in a cat from the workshop. The cat had soon chased the mice away, but this left another problem—the cat and Santa didn't get along. For some reason, the cat disliked him, and so clawed his face every night after he went to sleep. After awhile, this left sore scratches that would soon become infected if he didn't do something."

"Oh! What did he do?" Her eyes were round.

'_Despite pulling this whole story out of thin air I'm still getting her attention…good…'_ She smiled. "In order to combat that darn kitty, he stopped shaving his face, and soon little white hairs began to sprout on his cheeks and chin. After awhile, his whiskers grew long enough to comb, and after that they were long enough to brush, and after that to braid. With each passing day the cat found it harder to scratch his face. One night it got its claws stuck, and Saint Nicolas awoke, the cat frantically trying to tug its paw away from the beard hair entrapping it. He chuckled as he awoke, but he felt tugging that wasn't the cat—it turns out, a mouse had been coming into his room every night and it just happened to run over his face on its way out of the room, to its mouse-hole behind their bed, where they couldn't see it. The cat had simply been trying to do its job, even though it disliked Santa very much."

"Aww…" The little girl cooed. "What a nice cat!"

"It was a nice cat. From then on, it was given a name—'Whiskers'. However, as pets do, it died and left a spot on Saint Nick's bed and on his lap empty. From then on, a nickname the elves called him was 'Whiskers'—in honor of their boss's favourite cat."

"So… Santa's nickname is 'Whiskers'?" Ellie asked in amazement.

"Mm-hmm. And Santa is real—that's why he leaves presents for Lillian every year." Lillian, the little girl's cat, was three—and each year she'd gotten cat treats and some catnip-scented toys, wrapped up just like everyone else's gifts were. "He's known amongst all the animals as Whiskers, too." She glanced out of the window in Ellie's room, and then got up. "Well, I'll be in the kitchen—if you're hungry, there will be a sandwich for you in the refrigerator."

"Thank you mommy." The little girl smiled.

As quickly as she could—and thanking herself for having made the sandwich earlier—she left the room and went to the small room that Albert kept seasonal things in. Entering, she saw him tugging off his blazer. Bracing herself, she began to tell him the tale she'd told Ellie.

"Hmm… Whiskers, you say?" He smirked. "Well, say hello to Albert Whiskers."

She smiled. "Just drop off this," She handed him a small cat doll from a shelf. "Off on her window sill, make sure she sees a flash of red."

He nodded. "All right… See you in a little bit, dear heart."

After he left, she smiled to herself. It looks like Ellie would believe in Santa Claus—or at least 'Whiskers'—for a little while longer.

**K.L.K-… I was very…VERY…Tired when I wrote this. At midnight. On Christmas Eve 2010. Sorry that there's not a sequel to 'Last Christmas' quite yet, but I'm working on it and I'm ironing out a few bumps in the plot. (Sweat-drop) Oh, and I plan on using Ellie more. A **_**lot**_** more. **

**Wesker- …'Whiskers'? Really?**

**Claire- Well I thought it was a lovely… err… rather off the-beaten-path kind of story.**

**K.L.K- (smiles) Thank you Clairey… And yes Wesker, **_**really.**_** I for one thought it was cute…even though this story is a bit…err…odd.**

**Chris-…(groans) Last year it was Chris/Wesker, this year it's CLAIRE/Wesker? What's next—me and Claire!**

**K.L.K- (slowly, a smile spreads across her face)**

**Chris- (Horrified expression) You wouldn't.**

**K.L.K- (grinning fiendishly) I would.**

**Chris- (wide-eyed)…Meanie.**

**K.L.K- (rolls her eyes, waves it off) It's not like I plan these things. Anyway—! (Is tackled to the ground by Claire)**

**Sherry- She doesn't own us!**

**K.L.K-…Claire. Get. Offa. Me…(shoves her off, stands up and straightens her jeans and bright blue sweater) I was going to do something else.**

**Wesker- (Having signaled Claire) Oh…Well…(clears throat) What were you going to do?**

**K.L.K- I **_**was**_** going to do this… (Looks to the readers) Have a merry Christmas…and a happy new year, everyone! (Smiles brightly)**

**Wesker- Oh. Well… If that's all you wanted to do… I'm going to bed.**

**Claire- Me too.**

**Sherry- Me three!**

**Ellie-…(yawns, then lays down on the couch and falls asleep immediately)**

**K.L.K- Well…She's out. (Smiles, then walks out of the Disclaimer Room singing Carol of the Bells lightly)**


End file.
